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Moving on....
03.15.05 (1:02 am)   [edit]
Dear readers of the pink blog,

Roadie has moved to a new home in a new neighbourhood.

Catch him there…………


The TBlog Sexy Receptionist

The Samurai Sword
03.14.05 (1:09 am)   [edit]

Met up with a few friends at Starbucks for a double espresso to calm my nerves after the Mahathir Lokman episode. While I was drowning my sorrows in the espresso cup, a friend came up with an interesting theory about men in regards to dating/socializing. He was relaying to another friend of the fairer sex with great detail and care.

I was amazed he spent time on meaningless thoughts. He can get em from Cleo or FHM.  And he is in his early 40s. The last time he dated, B52s were dropping bombs in Cambodia. So what would he know anyway……….

He looked straight at me with conviction and said, ‘you would think a lot about men too, especially young men when you daughter turns 16. I have to know my enemy. Oh and by the way, I have two samurai swords, its hung on the living room wall. I’ll use it if any of those horny little bastards touch my daughter’.

I believe he would.

Mr. Samurai’s Dating Men Segmentation

a. The Walker

A ‘walker’ is a guy you go to bars & clubs and sometimes weddings with. He pays for your drink most of the time and then send you home. He basically treats you like a date but no hanky-panky. He only wants you for your company. He sometimes wants you for more but does not dare to go further for many reasons. He wouldn’t turn you down if you come on to him. For example, for the guy: ‘let’s bring Stephanie out to Zouk because both of us do not want to be seen like a two middle aged gay couple’. -show him the sword-

b. The Double Agent

They pretend to be your best mate while they figure out ways to get in your skirt. They pretend they are cool with the sight of the back of your black lacy g-string occasionally showing off and cleavage. They pretend to be a good listener and phone chat buddy. They pretend to be a nice guy to you i.e., ‘I am a real bastard with other women but I am nice to you because we are friends’. Ask your mate to look at him look at you when you are looking away. -kill them with sword-

c. The Bandit

The Bandit makes his intention known from the beginning. Ultimately they want you. He won’t pretend to be a friend. He courts you openly. -kill them with sword-

d. The friend

Similar to a ‘walker’ but just like he treats his other friends. This means you pay for your own drink. A ‘walker’ might fancy you and would sleep with you, a friend wouldn’t. He either doesn’t fancy you or you are ineligible*.  *related, you dated his best mate, you dated his mates, he works for your mom/dad etc. -invite him for dinner-

Weekend revelation
03.12.05 (9:37 pm)   [edit]

You know it’s time to dust off the old golf bag when...

you are passed by a Mahathir Lokman look-alike* wearing badminton shoes on a bike that cost half the price of your seat, up a false flat!

*probably it was him....


Personal Ad
03.11.05 (12:11 am)   [edit]

Moderately capricious bachelor,

32, seeks vivacious female with my sense of humour,

works long hours with own transport,

does not mind tip-toeing in to house to

watch films on DVD, without seeing the ending.

And white cotton undies an asset.




Another Prelude To An Unadulterated and Soul Bearing Entry
03.07.05 (9:52 pm)   [edit]

The Rant

I spent last Sunday afternoon watching the movie Sepet. I will never ever go to the cinema on a Sunday afternoon again. The place was packed with people. I think it is easier to get into Merdeka stadium for the Malaysia Cup final than getting into the cinema.  The young couples in their Sunday best, some nervous, some in love and some in heat is pretty endearing to watch.

But I don’t understand the rest of the people: families and groups of men spending a lovely Sunday afternoon in the bloody cinema. They should be out there either in a café reading a book or chatting, or out there playing tennis/football/trekking/cycling…… instead they roam the mall/cinema in groups, channeling their energy into talking and laughing out loud, acting rowdy like thugs on speed.  What happen to parents bringing their kids to theme parks or picnics? Instead they opt to dump their bratty kids at the mall.

Its bad enough I have to put up with socially inept young men acting all weird to attract the attention of the few annoyed looking young women. I also have to put up with screaming little kids who should be out breathing fresh air instead of recycled air in dingy mall. Why are these young men wasting their time with each other in a cinema? They should be out there chasing skirts or mountain biking.

The Sepet Review

I thought the indy movie was pretty good.  I felt like I was watching a foreign film – watched it in GSC mid valley, lots of subtitles, cinematography and no Hollywood special effects and action scenes. I thought the acting was really good by the two main actors. I sensed some on-screen chemistry between them. The supporting roles by Ida, Harith, Yam and Ah Leong were very good. The jokes were funny: there was constant laughter in the cinema. The movie addressed some real life social concerns but did not offend anyone. And I thought the ending was good. I would have been disappointed if it was a typical Hollywood ending. Maybe Yasmin wanted to say, ‘some time it all boils down to luck really’.

My gripes: The character build-up of the relationship between Orked and Jason wasn’t good. One example, Orked address Jason as ‘sayang or my love’ after one brief date at a fast food joint. I thought she called him by his first name, Sai Leong. Maybe there were some scenes which were cut I don’t know. The other one is Orked’s wardrobe. She wore baju kurung all the time, even to a party and to the airport presumably to study in the United States. Maybe Euro Moda or Globe Silk Store co-sponsored the movie. 

The Old Trout From Yesteryear

I felt l could relate to Jason’s character especially the karaoke lounge scene towards the end of the movie. It reminded me of the time I fell head over heels for a young woman who coincidentally share the same name.

Similar circumstance: the girl as a person was better than me. She was day and I was night. If I wanted to improve myself as a person, I would have chosen her as a benchmark.  I was not in her league but I kept trying until I exhausted myself.

I changed jobs (a high paying one) because she doesn’t date her clients. I went for prayers because she likes her partner to be spiritual. I went mosque hopping during the fasting month just to be with her at night. I stopped wearing jeans because she likes men in trousers. I opened doors, wrote poems, learn how to wear kain pelekat properly, dedicated songs, learned & practiced table manners, visited an orphanage, cooked Italian (had to order pizza in the end) and other things too embarrassing to mention to gain brownie points. I learned what she likes and dislikes with great detail.

She had a boyfriend whom she loved and I was this fork wielding devil tempting her. She got seduced by my energy and determination to be with her, to be a better person for her.

I got frustrated many, many times. The cycling boys would know it. I’d go to the front of the peloton, hammer the pedals and pull them at high tempo. I would ride myself to the ground. I was upset with her one Saturday night and at 7am the following day, cycled from the house to a town called Temerloh, located in Pahang – another state.  If things were good, I’d find myself at the back of the peloton struggling to hold on. Fortunately (from a cyclist point of view) I was upset a lot more times than I was deliriously happy. She made me become a physically strong endurance cyclist because whenever I felt frustrated I would take my bike out morning, noon or night.

‘Malay men don’t deserve us malay women. We are ‘manja’ and loving;  Malay men are the most unromantic and ungrateful. You think it is your right to be loved like a prince’ said my movie date in our post Sepet chat. Years ago, I would have said, ‘those (insert race/nationality/as this is universal) guys were simply not that into you’. Instead I didn’t say a word. At the age of 33 31 32, I knew that some things are better left unsaid.


Prelude To An Unadulterated and Soul Bearing Entry
03.03.05 (1:05 am)   [edit]

I have not had the opportunity to update my blog after receiving my bedroom renovation bill. I must have fainted when my eyes met with the numerical figure next to the ‘total’ column.

My next blog entry is triggered by my father’s ‘its time you find the RIGHT woman’ outburst* and is part of my therapy towards becoming ‘emotionally available’ again is titled ‘Till Lawyers Do Us Part’…  

*My father is from the ol’ol’ol’skool. These people don’t communicate very much. There was no Oprah, Ricki or Gerardo when they were growing up. He hardly opens his mouth and if he did its raging little verbal diarrheas.




You Know You're Addicted to Cycling When...
02.21.05 (9:39 pm)   [edit]

  • A measurement of 44-36-40 doesn't refer to the latest Playboy centerfold, but that new gear ratio you were considering for your Trek.

  • A PowerBar starts tasting better than a Snickers.

  • You wear your heart rate monitor when having sex.

  • You're too tired for hanky-panky on a Friday night but pump out a five-hour century on Saturday.

  • You have stopped even trying to explain to your spouse why you need two just go buy another one and figure it will all work out in the divorce settlement.

  • You buy your crutches instead of renting.

  • You see nothing wrong with discussing the connection between hydration and urine color.

  • You find your DMT carbon shoes to be more comfortable and stylish than your Gucci loafers.

  • You have more money invested in your bike clothes than in the rest of your combined wardrobe.

  • You see a fit, tanned, Lycra-clad young woman ride by, and the first thing you check out is her bicycle.

  • Despite all that happy hour fat you put on, you'll skim weight by buying lightweight carbon components.

  • You use wax on your chain, but not on your car.

  • Your bike has more miles on its computer then your car's odometer.

  • You wear your bike shorts swimming.

  • You have more bike jerseys than dress shirts.

  • You take your bike along when you shop for a car - just to make sure the bike will fit inside.

  • You clean your bike(s) more often then your car.

  • You're a committee member for a Bike Club.

  • You can't seem to get to work by 8:30 AM, even for important meetings, but you don't have any problems at all meeting your buddiess at 5:30 AM for a hammerfest.

  • You can tell your spouse with a straight face, that it's too hot to mow the lawn and then bike off for a century.

  • You hear someone had a crash and your first question is "How's the bike?"

  • You actually get these jokes and pass them on to other friends who are addicted to cycling.


Lost In Her Bosom
02.19.05 (12:07 am)   [edit]

Dear Big Bro,

I recently went for a job interview in Shah Alam. I was pretty confident as my CV looked strong. Tt matches with the job description sent to me by my headhunter friend. Shah Alam is in another country but I am willing to travel. There are no pubs there but on the bright side, this would mean a healthier lifestyle and in turn equals better time on the bike.

All was good until I stepped into the interviewer’s office. There it was. It has always been my undoing. It has made me lose focus and impaired my judgment countless times in the past.

There it was, my huckleberry...The Cleavage.

I am dumbfounded why a woman’s cleavage has such an impact on me. I consider myself fairly experienced and modern when it comes to women and sex. I have successful platonic relationships with many attractive women. I should be unperturbed and poised when face with a woman’s cleavage and her little pendant, perched rather snugly on it.

Yet I behaved like a man marooned on a deserted island for the last 32 years. I kept talking to her cleavage during the interview. I probably wouldnt be able to remember her face if I meet her again elsewhere. I am pretty sure half the things I said were crap. My attraction for superior women i.e., smarter, stronger, braver and more powerful than me didn’t help either.

After an hour of conversing with her chest, the interview ended and she said she’ll get back to me. I have been an interviewer many times before to speculate that an hour of interview is not a bad thing. But if I am the interviewer, I wouldn’t hire me. My guess is that I was there for a long time because she found my company pretty amusing. It can be rather flattering to be the object of desire and lust.

So Big Bro, can you help me out. How can I get rid of my fetish?

Yours truly,




Dear Roadie,

Writer’s Column is a highly respectable column on socio-politics in South East Asia. This column does not cover sex related issues. Since your problem is cleavage, may I suggest you create one of your own by means of surgery or magic lotion (see advert on terrestrial TV after 11pm for details) and you will be contented 24/7 and spare the readers your grief.  


Karim Raslan




Miseria Femenino Para Ciclista
02.16.05 (5:53 pm)   [edit]

The following are breakdown of event in numerical order. 

  1. Quick cold shower

  2. Apply deodorant to armpits

  3. Wear heart rate strap on chest

  4. Squeeze into cycling bibs (yeah yeah yeah like the one worn by wrestlers)

  5. Squeeze into asphyxiating lycra top (always a size too small. the mind is in denial and living in the past when buying)

  6. Pick matching Oakleys & cycling cap

  7. Pick matching gloves, shoes & socks

  8. Wear watch/heart rate monitor

  9. Check tyre pressure.

  10. Pump both tyres to the right pressure. No peace of mind if it is not exactly 125Psi. It’s the same uneasy feeling like wondering if you have switch off the telly when going away for a 2-week holiday.

  11. Lubricate chain.

  12. Check bike computer and sensor

  13. Fill chilled water in water bottle

  14. Mobile phone, Ventolin inhaler and mini ipod in back pocket.

  15. Push bike out of the house

  16. Close the gate

  17. Select playlist on iPod and tweak to get the right sound volume

  18. Clip right foot on the right pedal

  19. Rain starts to fall

  20. Open the gate

  21. Push bike back in, cussing along the way

  22. Leave trail of shoes, gloves, socks, cap, jersey, bibs, heart rate strap and inhaler all the way to the fridge

  23. Eat 4 Dunkin donuts in frustration.

  24. Wash it down with a mug of Nescafe

  25. Reach out to the remote to channel surf

  26. Rain stops

  27. Wail out loud

P.s., if the subject title sounds weird, the blame goes to le translator on Microsoft Word



¿puedes decirle que ...?
02.15.05 (8:46 pm)   [edit]

Waiting For Godotongkapas

I am inundated with emails from Gongkapas Times readers wanting to know whether the rumours of Dina Zaman, the blog-ubergoddess, quitting the scene is true.  Okay lah maybe inundated is overstating it a bit but more than the usual email traffic on the hotmail. She has a big following and many of them are extremely depressed. I have not seen anything of this magnitude since Simon Le Bon announced the break up of Duran Duran in the 80s.

Many Sri Amanians and Assuntarians drowned their sorrows on Big Mac and extra large Coke. There were no Haagen Daz back then. As a closet fan of Duran Duran (I wore my Black Sabbath t-shirt but deep down I wished it had a picture of John Taylor instead. Public affection of Duran Duran equals uncool. Uncool in teenagers slang means social death) I too was sad.… where am I going with this blog? Oh yeah.... Sorry fans of Gongkapas Times, reasons for the closure are a private & personal one. Let’s not make any assumptions and respect her wishes.




Valentine Hangover II
02.15.05 (9:35 am)   [edit]

A friend text messaged me this earlier;

Is it possible for a man and woman to be best friends without ending up sleeping with each other?

I am not really kosher to answer this question but I guess it is possible. Rare as albino tigers though.

This makes me wonder how my ex-best friend (ex because she left the land of belacan & ten dollar dvd for the land down under) is doing? The feeling I have for her is strange. I love her more than a friend but not like a lover. To know that she is doing well and happy where she is gives me a deep sense of joy. Really odd come to think of it because I am selfish and conceited normally not like that.

And my reply;

Only one way to find out – The Weekend Perhentian Getaway Test 





Valentine Hangover
02.14.05 (10:30 am)   [edit]

Why is love elusive for some and easy to come by for others?

I was having dinner with her in a rather romantic setting but yet I was feeling rather detached and dare I say, lonely (A bit of Before Sunrise influence ere'). Why can’t I like her more? She’s pretty, smart, intelligent and kind woman. There are many around in this city but not easy to find one that fancies me. And I ain’t no Tom Cruise. So I should really thank my lucky stars but instead I struggle to sustain any form of interest.

I should be kind and tell her how I truly feel but that would surely mean the end of our friendship. I would stand to be the losing party because of my inability to be on my own. If I were to follow my conscience every time, I would be better off becoming a monk and adopt a cat. Crude as it may sound, a cyclist need TLC and sex.

Though she sense something is lacking, the status quo may be construed as hope. Unfortunately, filler would be a better word. How foolish can I be? Reject the ones who love me and passionately pursue the ones that use me. Later on I’d bump into the former and would kick myself for being a fool.

What I really should be doing is looking at things from a more humbling angle. Who would want to put up with my fickle, insecure, self-absorbing, selfish sorry arse? What can I offer? Company, humour, decent sex (sometimes!) and monogamy, would that do? Probably not.             

I saw a young couple seated at the bar celebrating Valentine’s. They looked to be in their teens. Young, carefree and in love with reckless abandonment. I felt like strangling myself with my tie. Fortunately for me, it’s an Armani.




Have You Taken Your Valium Today? Its VD!
02.13.05 (10:25 pm)   [edit]

The TV Smith entry metaphorically speaking is like being in a dinner party and has some idiot physically half your size makes a lewd comment indirectly to you. You react by telling him to go fuck himself. You wouldn’t react if he is of the same size because the ensuing tiff is not worth the time and effort. It was that simple really. I got all sorts of emails, from being called a narrow minded classless fascist to offers to join right wing political party. We don’t have to get into political correctness, nationalism, race, goddess (i.e., Dina Zaman) bashing, class & popularity etc unless of course we are a bunch of idealistic, pot smoking college students with time on our hands.  Why? Because it doesn’t change anything.

The only thing that matter is me, me, me, me, ME and me.

I feel completely burned out after riding 400+km on the ridiculously hot coastal road of N9 and Malacca. I’ve got a sore butt, legs filled with lactic acid and my face looks like I’ve just survived the Sahara. My Suunto recorded a road temperature of 43.5°C. I better start living a pious life if hell is this hot.  

Okay. Actually that was not my grievance.  On Day 2, I got dropped by the only woman in the peloton. She smoked me twice on an inferior bicycle e.g., non-italian ! What the *&#$@sacrilege@*#^%fulat!@%^!!. I felt distraught and thought I was down in the gutter, i.e., things could not get any worse. But on Day 3, I lost whatever goodness left in me. I drafted and sat in the slipstream behind her, refusing to share the workload all the way to the end. Just like the old guy who stepped over a little girl to get to the life raft in the movie Titanic. That ride took the juice out of her. She couldn’t recover to ride Day 4. I must say that woman is something else. She got heaps of mental strength, grit and determination. I fall way below the bar set by her but I made up for it with unadulterated evil.

Before I get emails accusing me of being classless sexist pig, let me tell you that I would have done the same to anyone who I think I can pull it off regardless of sex, race, colour, weight, muscle mass and VO2max lung capacity.

Today is Valentines Day, even Starbucks are overcharging. They are selling those VD toys at the counter. I think it’s a stuffed Teddy Bee wearing ‘Bee My Valentines' t-shirt for RM100 each. Assassin! Assassin!     


Momma, I Need My Head Examined
02.07.05 (7:38 pm)   [edit]

For this loOooong Chinese New Year holiday, I had two choices for a much welcomed break. Ahh.. what is life without choices.

Option #1 - Perhentian Island Getaway With Good Mates.

  1. I will get a free ride in a big Italian car with rear seat air con vents to Perhentian and back.

  2. I will be with great company,

  3. I will have excellent conversations,

  4. I will have fun and laughter;

  5. There’s the wonderful sun and the gorgeous sea;  

  6. I will be sipping cold beer while lying on the beach

  7. I will feast on seafood barbecue by the beach

  8. There will be many bikini clad young women

Option #2 – Three-Day Cycling Orgy With Cycling Club.

  1. I will have to get my fat arse on the saddle and cycle over 150km every day,

  2. My fat arse will get left behind by the peloton and end up cycling alone for 130km,

  3. When cycling alone and feeling sorry for myself, stray dogs/junkyard dogs/deprived alpha-male monkeys will come out of nowhere and have a go at me,

  4. The scorching sun, 90% humidity and the diesel fumes from big lorries,

  5. Lonely and sexually deprived lorry drivers trying their luck with out of shape/breath cyclist who is miles behind the peloton,

  6. Arrive at destination looking like roasted chicken and close to having heat stroke,

  7. Spend the rest of the day in some cheap run down Rumah Tumpangan (motel) in some small obscure god forsaken village,

  8. Absolutely nothing to do and food is nasty,

  9. The butt of the joke all day for coming in last & a billion mosquitoes at night,

  10. Will then bath in bleach in the morning after sleeping on dodgy mattress,

  11. Repeat 1 – 10 for day two and three.

Being the sadistic git that I am, I have chosen Option #2. I wonder what is the going hourly rate for a shrink this days..


Opting to end up like this....

Than be surrounded   fun loving friends....


Post Tour de Langkawi Blues & Koji Fukushima
02.06.05 (10:02 pm)   [edit]

The tour ended yesterday at Dataran Merdeka. What a (amateur) cyclist to do now? The winner is Ryan Cox of Team Barloworld seen below in the yellow jersey (leader’s jersey) with his teammate. Both Ryan Cox and Theroadie uses the same bike. Cox got second last year when Team Barloworld were riding Colnagos. … Go De Rosa Go… hehehe..

It is tradition to push the tailend of the peloton up (or the backmarkers) the brutally steep Genting climb. This practice started in the Tour de France and Giro D’Italia. Apart from pushing, we’d pour mineral water on the riders. The race marshall does not make any fuss as it does not effect the race. The heat and humidity is not for the faint hearted.

For the faithful fans, it is a whole day affair. Riding up the mountain, choose the best spot, have a big picnic (last year we got the caterer to drive all the way up there and had two lambs roasted on spits). We feast and cheer every cyclist making their way up (seen in below pic) while waiting for the race and the riders to pass us. And when they do, every racer is cheered regardless of team or nationality. Anyone who got that far deserve respect.

The rider who got the loudest cheer was Koji Fukushima. When we saw him coming up from a turn about 20 meters away, we chanted in unison “Koji, Koji, Koji, Koji, Koji…”. He was giving his all trying to defend his lead and looked to be in a lot of pain. To see and hear a group of loud rowdy fans chanting your name with conviction is like having another set of legs. That day he successfully defended his Asian leader jersey from Tonton Susanto by a mere 6 seconds.

I Love You, Koji Fukushima.


Cor Blimey, Its Time Of The Year Again...
02.02.05 (7:39 am)   [edit]

The next couple of weeks are gonna be hard. There will be lots of insecure (single) people running around town. Ocean Deep who is incapable of being alone is getting desperate. Alarm bells are ringing in his head; he is now resorting to Starbucks and Hard Rock Café to find potential dates (gulp!). Worse of all he wants me to accompany him.

Look mate, two blokes in their 30s going to Starbucks in the same car is GAY.  

Soros is not worried at all; he has mastered the art of going to a nightclub on VD and picking up extremely drunk (and lonely) single women. Mistakes will be made on VD. A few people will inadvertently end up sleeping with their best friends.

Roadie has made many blunders in the past VDs and is determined to stay out of trouble this time around. Stay home and they’ll call you a lonely sod, go out to the club and they’ll call a drunk lonely sod. You cannot win.

It is easy to spot single women. They are the ones that laugh the loudest, the most energetic dancers, and the ones that drink the most. And the guys, we will just be sleazier than usual on VD.

The following are Roadie’s VD lessons learned.

  1. Do not go out with a group of young women to a club. You will come back home (alone) with a hole in your pocket/wallet/Visa card.

  2. Pretend to forget VD and you will not have sex with your partner. Ever.

  3. Candlelight dinner, flowers and chocolate does not guarantee sex.

  4. When somebody says they are happy being single and independent, they actually meant to say they are lonely and in denial especially if they are women.

  5. When in a relationship, prepare to part with RM400-RM500.

  6. Going out with a group of blokes to a happening joint is committing social suicide.

  7. Do not go on a blind date on VD no matter how desperate or lonely you are.

  8. When in a relationship, the old diarrhea excuse to avoid VD does not work. Ever.

  9. All restaurants & florists are out to rip you off. No point resisting.

  10. Do not wear red shirt or you’ll be mistaken for a waiter anywhere you go.

  11. You dont look cool and macho standing alone at the bar and no woman (sane or otherwise) will come up to you and give you her number. Ever.



Le Tour de Langkawi (LTdL) & Stray Dogs
01.28.05 (9:50 pm)   [edit]

20th switchback and another 10 to go...Are We There Yet???


Fresh from watching stage 1 of the 10th LTdL on NTV7, Roadie attacked the peloton at the beginning of the 19km Sempah climb only to blow his gasket at the 5km mark.

With the voices of the gods of cycling commentators, Phil Leggert and Paul Sherwin still ringing in his ears, Roadie shifted up to the big crank and hammered the pedal just 500 meter in to the climb. The cries of ‘assassin! assassin!’ from the riders he left behind further fuelled his fire.

Unfortunately, just like Jean Alesi’s Ferrari in the early 90s, Roadie’s heart refused to do its job after redlining past the 190 heart bits per minutes one too many times. The peloton caught up and passed him after 5 10 minutes.

One km later, a pack of vicious stray dogs came out of nowhere and chased the stuttering Roadie. Getting chased by mad dogs when going uphill would scare the bollocks of Lance Armstrong. Images of the face of a reindeer being eaten by wolves on Discovery Channel did not help either.

Roadie remembered the advice given to him by an old timer. ‘If you feel you can’t outrun them, stop on the side of the road and fight them like a man. Dogs sense fear and would attack you if you are feeling vulnerable’. But Roadie is not a boy, not yet a man. So he summoned the spirit of Marco Pantani and simply pedaled furiously, wailing at the same time. A passing timber lorry descending the opposite direction was the savior. Roadie could have been doggie lunch meat.

p/s Once a year I feel like committing murder. Hasbullah Awang has been commenting the LTdL on TV1 as long as I can remember. Annoying and irritating does not even begin to describe him. He does not have a clue about cycling, got his facts all wrong all the time. He thinks cycling is like a dog race and approached it that way. To have Leggert and Sherwin this year is like having Maya Karin whisper naughty things to you at 3 in the morning. Sweet heavens. Don’t believe me tune to NTV7 at 3.30pm.



The (Deviant) Malay Dilemma
01.25.05 (8:05 am)   [edit]

The JAWI raid on a popular club last week has caused quite a stir among the deviant Malays here in KL. It is the topic of conversation wherever I go, even in the bloody bicycle shop. Everyone is talking about it. Two year jail sentence and/or RM3,000 fine for consuming alcohol is definitely something to think about.

My friends are worried. Soros, a regular clubber, is thinking to settle down and raise a family. I don’t know which is scarier, Soros the monogamous dotting father or discourteous Jawi officers. My girlfriends, instead of buying clothes in MNG are buying lingerie in La Perla and possibly a tub of Vaseline. ‘What else can my boyfriend and I do but dinner and sex in the weekend’, they reasoned. Those without partners are opening accounts in Friendster and Myspace, calling up their exes for good measure. How come my exes are not calling me up? (Note to self: Coz they despise you?)

Cheongsam Party Boys (Malay boys who goes for Chinese girls) are preparing for tough times ahead. My friend GK has resigned to the fact that he needs to adapt, ‘tempoyak girls pon tempoyak girls lah’.

The owners of the once trendy DV8 in Petaling Jaya are celebrating Chinese New Year early. Ah Beng places like Sunway Pyramid are said to be stocking up. This would all end if JAIS decide to get busy.

At the bicycle shop, a mountain biker joked: ‘The fashion police and JAWI should do a joint Sunday raid on road cyclists in their figure hugging lycra for bad taste and indecent exposure’. Taking into account most roadies are middle age orang tua tak sedar diri and pot bellied, he does have a point.   

Lastly, even my father had a say. ‘Well son, this doesn’t concern you. You have nothing to worry about. Right?’ and I replied, ‘Absolutely…’.



Delirious with Fever Part 1001
01.21.05 (8:25 am)   [edit]


It is a thoroughly entertaining movie. My only gripe is that I was sweating buckets under the duvet. Well this happens when you are sick with a common some strange virus. I feel slightly disappointed that it didn’t turn out to be Denggi. It makes me feel like a little wussy who get sick all the time. Anyway, here is what I think of the movie.

  • Recommended viewing for people who fucked and got fucked in relationships.

  • It is a story about modern relationships. What makes it interesting is that we have gone through some of the emotions showed by the main characters in the movie. Deja vu... I think I said the same think in my Before Sunrise and Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind entries. How original... 

  • The dynamics of a relationship between boy and girl is rather simple. People are fallible and therefore shit happens. Sometimes.

  • Ocean Deep, it is pointless to analyze and scrutinize yourself and/or your partner when things don’t work out. Unless of course, one wants to use it as a form of amusement at the dinner table in the company of fellow 30somethings on a Saturday night. (this is actually a note to myself....)

I am going off topic here. This is my observation……When in your twenties, its cool to talk about sexual conquests but makes one sound rather inadequate talking about the same topic when one has reached the thirty superhighway e.g., “What? You are still fucking around? 

I have a funny feeling I am completely incoherent and will delete this post come tomorrow.



Bored & Delirious with Fever Part 1000
01.20.05 (7:10 am)   [edit]

Just got off the phone talking to a friend…. Last Wednesday her night ended rather abruptly at Zouk - Mumbo Jumbo Nite. The popular club was raided by JAIS. Most of the Muslim patrons were arrested and bundled into a truck and taken away.  This friend of mine was not arrested as she is not a Muslim, so there is no stories about where those people were taken and how long. The poor sods. What Zouk to do with all the unclaimed Chivas bottles left behind?


Excuse my silly ignorant arse, but did they break the law by drinking alcohol? If yes, how severe is the punishment? And for the fairer sex, do you break the law by dressing in a revealing way? If yes, what are the minimum clothes required not to break the law? And what happen if you break the law?

For starters, that is the last place you would find me on Wednesday nights. I have to consider moving to the only corrupt place left in this country…. The Borneo. While I am there I’ll pick up a local dialect or two. For that I need to get me a Sleeping Dictionary. I am sure there’s lots of Selimas running around the place. Perhaps move in next door to Hansac…


Aedes aegypti
01.20.05 (12:05 am)   [edit]

Sorry for not updating and not replying to the comments left in previous post. What I thought was yet another bout of flu might turn out to be a lot worse. I did a blood test this morning and I will know if I have Denggi (yellow) fever later today.

Five days of high fever is no fun. I am convinced the mosquito that bit me was a Japanese woman in its previous life as I developed a sudden craze for sashimi and sushi with lots of wasabe.

Thank god I have personal health insurance. My insurance agent who is a dear friend  reads this blog. I promise I’ll pay you on time from now on if you tell me how to get my wrinkly arse in to an Ampang Putri suite all paid for by Prudential?!??!   

A True Story
01.12.05 (8:31 am)   [edit]

Inspired by The Visitor and Mira K’s encounters with the supernatural.

It was beginning of summer, after an all nighter at the student bar, my friends and I went back to my flat for a post party chill out drinks i.e., last chance to hail the shag bus.

My flat mate took out our trusted Ouija board for the old scam on the French au pairs.


The old scam was simple. Duvet on each sofa, fake fireplace switched on, Billie Holiday or Bessie Smith in the back ground and cheap Bulgarian wine to go. Looking back I must say it was a decent scam. One has to be enterprising when one drives a Mini identical to Mr. Bean’s instead of a Golf GTI in college.


Unfortunately on that fateful day the scam didn’t work. It was summer. Sun was up and about. It was warm and bright at 5 in the morning.

We both realized it i.e., no point waiting at the bus stop coz the shag bus ain't coming (today), and decided to play the game for real. I opened the window after half a dozen attempts at contacting the spirit(s). We figured the spirit needed to get in through somewhere.

After a dozen attempts we gave up and I said out loud in frustration,

“hey why don’t you entertain us and move the bloody coin around, you wanker”

At about 7 in the morning, our visitors left and I went to my room to sleep. My room was in the basement and it doesn’t get any light. Its pitch dark when the lights are off no matter what time of day it is.

After a couple of hours of sleep, I was awakened by a strange feeling. I felt feverishly cold. I sensed someone entered my room and was walking down the stairs. I opened my eyes and saw a tall dark figure, like a shadow, looking down on me. He/she was standing under the staircase at the corner of the room.

I called my flat mate out loud but he was fast asleep. I was so afraid I could have pissed in my boxers. It then took a few steps towards me. I recited a few basic prayers e.g., Bismillah.

It kept walking towards me. It sat on the worktable next to my bed. I then used my big guns e.g, al fatihah and qul verses. That worked. Freddy Kruger wannabe did not move towards me. But when I got tired and stopped reciting, it moved and sat on my chest. When I retaliated (by reciting those verses), it move itself back to the worktable.

This went on for a long time and I got tired and said something which I regretted very much,

“mo-fo, is that the best you can do?”

I was pushed so hard that my head sunk into the pillow. I couldn’t breathe. I felt like the earth was on the verge of opening up and swallowing me. I tried reciting the Quran verses but it came out all jumbled up and wrong.

I remember till today my exact words uttered to that thing,

“Okay you win. You are strong. I am weak. I apologize to you. I will never do it again. I am sorry”.

It turned around and left. I can even sense the exact moment it left the flat. I didn’t want to take any chances, so I crawled into my flat mate’s room and lied under his bed. I told him what had happened and he just shrugged it off,

“Stupid Asian.......You and your goddamn ghosts”.


p/s Two years later he backpacked across South East Asia hoping to see ghosts. He met many transvestites but no ghost.



I think I have overestimated ....
01.11.05 (11:26 pm)   [edit]

....... my ability to D.I.Y. I started stripping the paint on one of the main wall and am now stuck. Two metal spatulas are now blunt, quite an alarming rate of spatulas considering I have only managed to strip off a quarter of the area and in patches.

Should I try using a solvent to remove the paint? Or should I just get some white paint and apply it as base, followed by two layers of the orange paint? Would 3 layers be enough to make it look even? Should I end my agony and call the professionals?

Good to Be Back - Natalie Cole
01.11.05 (12:47 am)   [edit]

I had some work in Kemaman and now I am home. It is good to back :-). I browsed through the usual weblogs with the same excitement as I go through and on a Monday morning. Am I a blog addict? I don’t know.


I am doing up my room. I have bought 10 litres of paint. I am going to paint the wall orange then replace the marble floor with birch wood, before it gives me arthritis. The marble floor gets really cold at night.

I am still undecided about the bed though. Should I spend a few thousand ringgit on a new bed? A friend once told me, a good bedroom can act as your third hand in undressing (preferably) a female guest.

The right size is very important. King size bed if you are married or have a live in partner; queen size bed when you have someone sleeping over occasionally; and single bed if you are in college.

A friend suggested I get a bigger TV as well. I think 25” is good enough no? I hardly watch the telly and watch at best, 3 DVDs a week. I might consider it if a big 'idiot box' acts as a ‘fourth hand’.

Anybody interested buying A1 size poster(s) with metal frame non reflective glass of

  1. Miles Davis

  2. John Coltrane

  3. Dexter Gordon

  4. Chet Baker

  5. Rare 2 x Billie Holiday (A3 size)

I’ll post the photos of the posters in my room in my photoblog.

Remembering Injured All Stars
01.04.05 (11:14 pm)   [edit]

A Call For Arms Shin Pads & Boots

With the fierce debate on the quick Troy like demise of Malaysia in the Asean Tiger Cup, a little lesson in history is in order. Let’s go back, way back. Errm not that far back, .. between 1999 to 2001, a football team named Injured All Stars terrorized and entertained (depend on which side you are on) the Malaysian amateur football scene.

A group of 20 somethings and a few 30 somethings got together and decided to pick up where they left off when they were teenagers and play football. I mean real football, not the 5 a side indoor wussy kick about. I am talking about eleven a side with numbered jersey, substitutes, referees and linesmen with the right attire, whistle and flag, stadiums, floodlights and female groupies. Okay maybe not the latter, they rather watch rugby. (what is wrong with these ppl??)

Injured All Stars were a young handsome team. They were kitted top to bottom with Nike back when even Man United were running around in Umbro. They had a philosophy, the game had to be played right: the beautiful way - short passing, ball on the ground with one traditional winger ala the great Steve Coppell or Andrea Kanchelskis.

Their record was as impressive as Lennox Lewis. They were the only club invited to play against the Malaysia Senior Selection at the famed Wisma FAM and narrowly lost 5-3. The legendary Zainal Abidin Hassan was so impressed he wanted a match on a monthly basis. (Yours truly managed to play against his local 'idol', Razif Ismail)

Each and everyone had either a dodgy ankle, knee, hamstring or some nasty old sports injury, hence the name Injured All Stars. Unfortunately, many then suffered broken leg, ankle, ligament, dislocated shoulder etc. There were 7 knee and 1 ankle surgeries in total. One still walks with a steel plate in his left foot. One succumbed to the bright light and drugs of Backroom.  And another hung his boots for ball hugging lycra tights. Finally the team disbanded in 2003.

It is time this team comes out of retirement one last time to show the Malaysian team (and the disgraceful Malaysian England supporters) what its all about.



Email me: Theroadie is a 32 year old single again (and again) from Kuala Lumpur. He does not care anymore if there is no meaningful relationship in the horizon. He just wants to lose his beer gut and regain his old form and dance up the Momma Hor's Categorie that is Genting. The ole devil called Happy Hour proves to be a worthy adversary.